


The Reaper's Arms

by Lundeity



Category: Original Work
Genre: England - Freeform, F/M, Lovers, Reaper - Freeform, Romance, vampire
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-22
Updated: 2018-10-22
Packaged: 2019-08-06 02:30:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,441
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16379711
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lundeity/pseuds/Lundeity





	The Reaper's Arms

“Where are you, my little marigold …”  
  
His voice was tender, filled with the promise of something honeyed and delicious, but she bit her tongue hard, and pushed herself further into the wardrobe she had locked herself inside. Velvet carpet and plush curtains made the bedroom she had hid in feel stiff and stately, but it certainly didn’t feel like the haunted house she had thought it was. The halls were luxurious, paintings from all eras littered the walls like careless treasures, while priceless statuettes and life sized models were tucked into corners like forbidden jewels. The windows that had looked dark and rusted on the outside were shined to a gleam inside, not a trace of age to be seen. It was this way when she had first stepped foot inside, more out of curiosity than a stupid dare, though her coworkers would want to take credit for her even going there to begin with. She let them believe what they wanted; they’d never hear the truth at this point.  
  
She held her breath as his footsteps passed by the door to the room, and she saw his shadow slide underneath the door frame through the crack in the wardrobe. Her frozen heart skipped several beats as it paused, and she thought for sure he had found her. A long moment passed, and it kept moving down the hall. She counted to ten before she let herself exhale, slowly pushing the door open and easing herself to the floor, She wasn’t scared, but it was a bit intimidating for anyone to be preyed upon by a vampire, for that is who her seeker was.  
  
A vampire, ancient even among his kind. He had been plaguing children’s dreams and wooing women from the grave for centuries; a folktale with just enough truth that even tourists believed you when it was spoken. He had deep set eyes, and a sharp jaw that had caught her attention the first time she saw him; it was a part of her dreams now - and her reality. You see, he was not the only undead in this house.  
  
She was a reaper, an undead caretaker of sorts. When she had been alive, she had been an editor in the late 1800s. She lived in a small town in England, further into the countryside than most thought was prudent for a young woman of her age. But she enjoyed to long walks and the tedious work she did, writing long into the nights. She was maybe 17 years old when he first came to her. She had been sitting in the dining room and a dark figure was leaning against the window, outside. Watching her. She had been shaken, but had thrown a vase at the shape, who disappeared. A few nights later, the same man returned. After shouting profanities at him, he had asked if he could come inside for a tea. Highly suspicious but taken aback at this request, she had let him in, a knife in hand in case he got any “funny ideas”. He was soft spoken, and moved gently around her, but his mouth was sharp and spoke of something much more primal than she wanted to know of. After idle, tense chatter on her part, he left with the promise of returning the following night.  
  
And he did. Night after night he would return, until she was watching for him at the door, silent but her heart in her throat. They spoke about nothing and everything, always having tea and nothing more, until one night, he didn’t come. She paced and waited, made herself several mugs of tea, before finally calling it quits and going to bed. It was during the witching hour when she sat up in bed to find him sitting beside her, watching her carefully. A buzz of energy was throttling her arms and legs, and she had never felt such an urge to take someone before - she had never been with anyone before, and lived alone, so prospects were few and far between. But something about him sitting there made her blood boil and she dragged him under the covers. The cries that emerged from her window made the neighboring farmer’s dogs howl at the moon and their wives itch all over, and when the sun rose up, he disappeared, leaving her a sweating mess and feeling empty but alive.   
  
Restless was not the right word for how she felt the rest of the day. She couldn’t concentrate on her writing, her chores were half started and then abandoned, and even the milkman looked warily at her. By nightfall, the craze began to rise once more, and she paced the house feverishly until he arrived once more, silently. The carnal burning she felt was inhuman and she wanted to know more, wanted to seize him and make him stop what he was doing to her, but she couldn’t …  
  
It wasn’t until a few months later that she realized she was with child. He appeared one evening and though she burned for him, she held herself in check, instead taking his hand and settling it across her stomach. He seemed to understand, and wordlessly made tea for them instead. The didn’t speak, not this time, but she felt oddly comforted in knowing that he didn’t take off. She knew he was not human, this much was obvious. They had never spoken about it; really, they hadn’t spoken much since the first evening together. But here he was, making tea for her.   
  
As the weeks progressed, her neighbors began to notice the change in her, but not a change in visitors. The farmer’s wife began to whisper sharp things to her husband, jealous that she was of her freedom and ability to have children, for she could not. She spoke of witchcraft and plague, and hissed that she was a she-devil, waiting to kill her and take her husband as a sexual prize. Her poisonous words seeped into her husband’s mind, and finally choked him into action. Rallying a few others, the farmers crept to her house one evening, knocking on her door and declaring her a witch and that she should give herself up before they burned her house down. Terrified, she tried to barricade the doors and windows before hiding in her bedroom, but there was far more of them than her, and they broke down the front door, before finding her curled up in her closet, and stabbing her to death, child and all.  
  
The rest, as they say, is history. She and her child perished under their cruel onslaught, and her lover found her later that evening, bleeding out into her wooden floor. She found out later that he had gone to each house of her attackers and methodically murdered them as repayment. But while he was butchering in her name, she was transcending.  
  
She had entered a new realm, a different kind of heaven and hell. She had been given two options: die, or become a reaper; a guardian of sorts that helps soul move on. She had chosen the latter, and her training had begun immediately. Time had no meaning in that realm, so when she first went back to earth, many years had passed and modern day technologies fascinated and made her wary. She learned as much as she could to keep on top of her peers, but she wanted to find the lover that she had lost, to see what he really was. If she could live in the afterlife, perhaps he did as well.  
  
A stark white hand suddenly clasped itself around her neck, breath as cold as ice drifting down her shoulder, and she let out a gasp as she was pulled against what she would have once assumed was a concrete wall. But concrete walls don’t wrap their arms around waists, or chuckle in her ear. It tilted her head backwards, and a pair of cold lips pressed themselves against her neck. Adrenaline pounded through her, not unfamiliar to her ..  
  
“There you are, ma cheri. You’re getting better, but your breathing always gives you away.”  
  
“Old habits die hard.  
  
Her breathing was shallow as his fingers splayed across her throat, and she felt goosebumps erupt across her skin. A tiny chuckle came from him, and he tightened his hand ever so slightly.  
  
“Scared, ma femme fatale?”  
  
She gave a shuddery huff and glanced away from his direction over her shoulder. “I don’t get scared.”  
  
“Oh?”  
  
He whirled  her around in his arms, a hand on her spine, another around her wrist that he pressed to his lips. “Show me.”


End file.
